


The Weeping Rose

by aphoenixinwriting



Series: The Lord and the Knight [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphoenixinwriting/pseuds/aphoenixinwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras Tyrell reacts to the death of his king. His one true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weeping Rose

It had been six hours since Renly Baratheon was found dead in his tent. Ser Loras was coming to apologize for being rude to him about not taking Margaery's maidenhead. He found Renly cold, in a pool of his own blood.

"NO! Who did this? Who did this? I will kill them for this!" Ser Loras yelled. He drew his sword faster than his mind could process. He cut down two members of the Rainbow guard in a blind fury. He shoved his sword into the ground and knelt beside his king.

"Come back to me, Your Grace. Come back. Renly, my lord, my love, come back to me."

He scooped Renly's lifeless form up and cradled him, rocking back and forth with the dead King like a mother with a child. The rose's lips danced kisses on the stag's brow.

"Ser Loras, let us remove the body," said Lord Tarly.

"Leave us!" shouted the Knight of Flowers.

But it was Ser Loras who was removed. His brother Garlan and another member of the Rainbow guard took him under the arms and lead him away so the maester and Silent Sisters could cleanse the body for a funeral.

"No! Let go of me!" Ser Loras broke free and threw himself over his lover's corpse. He had to kiss him one last time. He needed to taste him one last time. He kissed the cold, lifeless lips of his king, and kissed his forehead before he allowed his brother to drag him away.

Loras was restless. He sat in his own tent staring at the entrance hoping that Renly would throw it open and walk in claiming it was all a jape, that he was alive, that Brienne of Tarth had never slain him. He waited for what seemed like hours for Renly to come back, until he fell asleep in his chair.

A familiar smell of peaches awoke him at dawn. Margaery was lighting candles in his tent. She brought in his breakfast of roasted rabbit, fresh bread, and cheese. She was dressed in black.

He didn't want to wake. His dreams were filled with Renly, and of himself wrapped in Renly's arms underneath the midnight sky in Storm's End. A renegade tear rolled down Ser Loras's cheek. Margaery sat on the edge of the bed and wipes it with a sleeve of her gown.

"Is he really dead, sweet sister?" Loras asked

"Yes."

"I was unkind to him that night. He sought out my council and I was unkind."

Loras pulled his knees up to his chest. He rested his head there and sobbed as Margaery held him. They cried together. She alone knew what Renly meant to Loras. She alone shared his grief.

She left Loras to dress as the servants came in. They prepared him for the day with white satin breeches and a green tunic, a belt of golden roses around his slender waist. He would not wear his armor to say good-bye to Renly. He would not wear black either. Renly was not fond of black.

Renly's tent had been turned into a place of mourning. Visitors gathered around to pay their respects to their dead king before running off to Stannis or back to Highgarden. Loras would not leave. It was his duty and his alone to bury Renly.

He saw that Renly was dressed in fresh clothing. Loras didn't see where they discarded the clothes he was wearing when he was murdered, until he smelled smoke outside the tent. Someone was burning fabric.

"No," Loras stomped out the fire. He took Renly's breeches and tunic and small clothes. He patted out the fire and carried the charred, soiled clothing back to his chamber. The breeches he washed on his own, the tunic he slipped on over his head. It smelled like smoke, but underneath the smoke if he breathed deep enough was a scent so uniquely Renly.

"I'm so sorry, Renly. I'm so sorry. I will avenge you, my love and then maybe we will meet in the afterlife, gods be good."

Loras slipped the breeches on when they were cleaned and laid down on his bed. It wasn't the same as having the real Renly, but this was close as he could get. He closed his eyes and imagined Renly's embrace. He let the image fill him up as he slid his hand down his breeches.

"Renly!" the Knight of Flowers screamed out when the pleasure came. And at once he fell back on the bed, his body shuddered and the image of Renly disappeared. He stripped himself of Renly's garments and donned his own. He folded the garments and hid them amongst his own clothing.

The young Knight headed back to Renly. His sword hanging off his hips in its gold jeweled scabbard. His sister, the young widow, was weeping silently. He bent the knee beside his king, the rightful king, the king that should have been, and said his silent good-byes. He cursed the Seven for taking him away.

"I will avenge you, my king," the Knight of Flowers whispered.

Ser Loras wept for his lover without caring who could see him. He wept for the moments they shared together. He wept for the lovemaking and the kisses. He wept for the moments they will never share.


End file.
